


Now is lost for words to say

by rxcrcfllptrs



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crushes, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 12:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: He spins around and, sure enough, Peter’s there. In the tailored suit, he’s a little disheveled but still cutting a figure so well that Harley’s heart leaps up to his throat. Not that he’s shallow or anything but, outside of Spider-Man, he’s only ever seen Peter in casual shabby clothes. Seeing him all cleaned up with somewhere to go is a whole other monster entirely.A traitorous part of Harley’s brain wants to steal Peter away from the world. To make out with him in an ‘authorized personnel only’ storage room, mess up his styled curls back to their natural unruly state. Bad, impulsive things.He feels like such an idiot for just standing there gaping at him like a fish.





	Now is lost for words to say

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, gosh. I have been in such a writer's slump for a while due to real life events. I'm not abandoning "All We've Got Is Time" or "A Tale of Two Spiders" but life has been really rough on my ability to write, so they'll get there... eventually.
> 
> Anyway! This fic was almost entirely inspired by Celtic Woman's "[Ballroom of Romance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-P1wyDW7BOQ)" and a little bit of Barenaked Ladies' "[Did I Say That Out Loud?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uu1_B70pSGo)". I highly suggest giving those a listen either for reading or just because they're darn good songs.
> 
> Big thank you to my friends Lily, Mar, and Jay for helping out with plot or just letting me blather on about it in their DMs.

Peter’s been tapping idly at his desk with his pen, bringing it up to his mouth to chew, to stim as the last minutes of the school day ebb away into the bell ringing.

He doesn’t know why he’s been so on edge today, like the feeling of being watched - not so much that his spider-senses went wild - but looking around and finding nothing. He swears he’s not going crazy, but he can’t help but be drawn to the desk on the far side of the room by the window.

Harley Keener-Stark, a recent transfer to Midtown after a rather explosive intro to Manhattan as Tony Stark’s heir. Magnetic, witty, and fierce, and Peter is so helplessly caught in his gravity.

Peter sighs, stealing a glance at him every now and then when he knows Harley isn’t looking. He sees blond curls filtering rays of light and highlighting planes of his face, much to Harley’s chagrin - frowning and putting up a palm against the window to block out some of the sunlight. Peter huffs to himself before returning to the jumble of scribbles and what must’ve been notes in another lifetime. He groans because he’s gone and distracted himself with Harley again. The backlog of lessons to relearn grows ever higher.

The bell rings and everyone is up and raring to go. For once, Peter looks when Harley is looking right back at him. He smiles and gets a grin in return. _Worth it._

* * *

Peter doesn’t know when he and Harley became friends. It’s one of those things that just happens, more or less. He can probably blame Mr. Stark for that one, actually.

He was 15 when he starts his so-called Stark Internship, already having a kind of rapport with Mr. Stark, able to work at the Tower when he can. One day Mr. Stark comes bustling in with a stack of paperwork, Ms. Potts tailing him.

“What’s up, Mr. Stark?” Peter remembers asking, pushing up his magnifying goggles and putting down his forceps. He’d rather not mess up his webshooters because he’s holding them and messes the wiring up somehow. Murphy’s law, can’t be too careful.

It takes Mr. Stark a couple moments, buzzing through the paperwork before the telltale scratch of pen on paper, rustling, and more pen scratches. Peter returns to his tinkering until he hears a thump of pen casing hitting paper then looking up again.

“You’re getting a new playmate!” Mr. Stark says with an unnerving amount of enthusiasm. “Well, not right now. He’ll be here in a couple days with his sister. You might be able to meet him, he’s got a tinkering streak like you do.”

Peter makes a face. “I’m 15, not 7.”

Mr. Stark looks at him with an exaggerated surprised face. “_What?_ I’m pretty sure you were born this side of the century. Do you even have a permit to handle those?” he points a roving finger at Peter’s station, delicate open-faced surgery on webshooter tech, filled with equipment not suitable for people without fine motor skills. “Didn’t know they let toddlers do delicate electrical work now.”

“This toddler who can do delicate electric work has access to your Iron Man suit,” Peter deadpans, but ready to backpedal in case Mr. Stark calls his bluff.

And somehow, that thinly-veiled threat only makes Mr. Stark smile. “Great!” he claps his hands. “You and Harley will get along swimmingly.”

* * *

No one actually deigns to explain the entire situation to Peter until he’s walking to school one day and the headline has _NEW STARK HEIR?_ in requisite bold letters and the same overused shot of Stark Tower.

That in itself is a can of worms that Peter does not want to open, so he doesn’t. He turns his head away and walks to school.

* * *

Peter meets Harley in school, of all places. The horde of paparazzi and excess traffic makes the entire thing obvious and extremely inconvenient for making it to class on time. He still doesn’t actually meet him until lunch time.

He’s sitting alone at the table today, MJ busy with AcaDec stuff and Ned out sick for the week. Peter’s planning on visiting him with some flowers and a cool thing from Mr. Stark’s labs to cheer him up. He has his food set off to the side, instead concentrating on some getting some ideas written on paper.

“My name is Harley,” the famed Harley says, sticking his hand out and way into Peter’s personal space. “You probably know the rest,” he completes, something of a smirk on his face.

Peter puts in the effort to resist the urge to snort. Mr. Stark really knows how to pick ‘em. “Okay, Draco Malfoy,” he pushes Harley’s hand away with his finger. “Did you want me to complete the scene the same way too?”

Harley withdraws his hand with a snort. “Well, that’s that,” he sits on the bench across Peter’s. “Tony was right for once.”

Peter smiles, resting his pen against his cheek. “Mr. Stark is very rarely right about things that aren’t about engineering.”

Harley huffs as he gets settled, relaxing his shoulders and placing his bag beside him. “Guess it was his lucky day,” he flashes a smile and Peter swears his heart stutters. _Oh fuck_.

* * *

They get closer, after that.

Nothing so ridiculous as to need BFF bracelets or anything, but Peter finds himself drawn to Harley (and Harley to him, he hopes). In a room full of people, he would approach Harley and Ned and MJ, like a missing piece slotting perfectly into an incomplete puzzle board. Sometimes they’d sit next to each other or sometimes across, like an unwritten rule. MJ looks at them like she knows something they don’t, which is true most of the time anyway.

With a personality as charismatic as Harley’s, Peter really should’ve seen the crush coming from a mile away.

* * *

“Hey, Peter!” he hears from behind him, a hand on his shoulder just as he’s walking down the hallway and out of school.

“Oh, hey Harls,” Peter adjusts his bag straps, slotting them into the free space by the lockers, freeing up the hallway. “What's up?”

“Uh,” Harley reaches a hand up to scratch the back of his head. Uncharacteristically meek of him. “Got plans for the weekend?”

Peter tilts his head. “Not... really?” he racks his brain for anything of importance, bar patrolling or sudden villain attacks. “Was probably gonna test out some concepts at the ‘shop and hang out with May on her day off.”

“Ah,” Harley shifts his weight to his other leg. “So you haven't heard?”

“Heard about what?”

Harley sighs, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. “The SI gala happening this weekend. Super important people will be there and apparently _I_ have to be there too.”

Peter doesn’t really see a problem with that. “Well you _are_ super important, Mr. Future Iron Man,” he teases, nudging Harley’s arm with his elbow.

“As if you aren't doing super important work right now,” Harley grumbles, arms crossed.

Peter brushes that aside, not really knowing what to do with that tidbit despite it igniting a warmth in his chest. “What brought this up?”

“I was wondering if…” Harley pauses, shifting his weight to his other leg, fidgeting with his bag strap. “Well- if you wanted to be my plus one?”

There’s a maelstrom erupting in Peter’s chest and he’s caught at the heart of it. He blinks several times, sincerely hoping he heard him correctly. “Harley, I’d be honored to- but uh,” several emotions—joy, insecurity, anxiety, surprise—flit his face in real time. “I’m… just me,” he says, eyes downcast. “I won't have anything near decent to wear,” the excuse falls flat even to his ears.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, reassuring and firm. “You’re more than what you think you are, Peter Parker.”

For a moment, the entire world slows down, focus sharpening on the two of them and the space in between. Peter holds his breath and doesn’t say a word. For one moment, for two moments…

Harley turns away, puts his hands in his pockets. The moment is broken. “Look, Pepper's been all about me making connections with people my age there and it's just... a lot for li'l ol’ me. I’d really appreciate it if you were there,” he turns back, and those blue eyes are trained on him like a vicegrip.

“You say that like I have any experience dealing with this kind of stuff either,” Peter replies, voice shaky like the proverbial ground he’s treading on. He’s trying not to read too much into it, but his enthusiastic crush is lumbering in like the Juggernaut anyway.

“We can go through it together?” Harley suggests, smile tentative, and Peter is so, _so_ fucked.

He sighs, loud and fake and exaggerated and hopes Harley doesn’t see right through it. “You sure drive a hard bargain, Keener.”

“Just trying to keep you on your toes,” Harley’s confidence returns with his smirk, patting the side of Peter’s arm twice before going on his way. “I’ll text you the details later!”

Right. Peter is so grateful that his enhanced balance and endurance keeps him standing because otherwise he’d be swooning against a locker. God, what a cliche his life is turning out to be.

* * *

It’s the day of and Harley is nervous as _fuck_.

He’s been in sweats the hours leading up to the event, not wanting to wrinkle or spill anything on his _apparently really expensive holy shit_ suit. He’s been a hurricane of nerves and emotions, fidgeting with whatever he can find in his room before giving up and moving to the kitchen and watching leftovers rotate on the microwave platform.

He can see his reflection in the mirror, hair done up in gel and cleaned up with light makeup. He wishes he was there when Peter went outfitting for a suit but he was certain he wouldn’t be able to control himself very well, if at all. In a way, this feels more like some kind of wedding, bad luck to see the groom before the ceremony. Harley groans internally, willing his hand to stay still in his pocket as he wishes he could slap himself. _This isn’t your wedding, stupid! Hell, he might not even see it as a date!_

“Kid, I can hear your brain having a meltdown from here,” he hears Tony turning the page on a paper newspaper like a TV dad. Granted, a dad in a custom made suit costing hundreds of dollars, but still. Harley latches onto the anachronism as distraction.

“I thought you’d sworn off paper products in like 2003?” he quips, not even turning around.

“Yeah but this feels more fatherly than just dispensing sagely advice while swiping on a tablet,” Tony rustles the paper more vigorously for emphasis. “Is it working?”

Harley rolls his eyes as he takes out the container. “Fatherly, huh?” he rummages for utensils before turning around. “You gonna give me the talk? Wait, no, one step ahead of you: should I use protection and make good choices?”

“What? No,” Harley snorts, interpreting that entirely the wrong way. “Steve already gave Spiderboy a rundown when you asked us to get him something to wear, and you already said what I was gonna say anyway. Props to whichever internet board gave you that advice.”

“Internet board? What are you, 60?” he retorts before rewinding everything that Tony said. “Wait wait wait- we already get enough of him in the videos they show of him at school, why would you do that to him?”

“Because,” Tony sets aside his newspaper and stands up, making his way towards Harley. “Whether you like it or not, you're part of the family now, kid. Adults gotta take care of the young and whatnot.”

Harley raises a brow. “You’ve been watching way too many nature docs,” he shakes his head, finishing off the last of his food. “I think I’ve survived just fine without all that, but thanks for the concern.”

“Kid,” he can hear a long-suffering draw of air there, the same way Pepper does when Tony’s being dumb. He puts a hand on Harley’s shoulder. “I’m here to say you don't have to. You have people to come to now for homework help, advice…” he sends him a knowing look, smirk quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Emotional crises.”

Harley whines, setting the container aside as his shoulders slump. “Was I really that obvious?”

Tony chuckles, patting Harley’s shoulder. “Like a cruise liner on top of Everest. Besides, what are you so nervous about? You're 17, just there to schmooze and and look pretty. If it helps, just imagine it as a stuffy dinner party you have to attend a couple times a year.”

“With people who can spend my entire life's savings without batting an eye,” he points out, grimacing.

Tony takes a sharp inhale. “Yeah, you’re right. It needs a special build up of tolerance, but I have faith that you’ll survive,” he smiles, alleviating some of the nerves plaguing Harley. “Besides, you have backup, don't you?” And then mentioning the other source of nerves instead.

“I don't think Peter will fare any better than I will,” Harley says weakly.

“Now? Yeah, probably,” Tony shrugs. “But it's worth keeping good people like that close. Or, you know, closer than that.”

Harley makes a face. “What are you, wingmanning for Peter now? I thought you were supposed to be my father figure!”

Tony raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying! Peter's got a good head on his shoulders,” he puts his hands on Harley’s shoulders, bringing him in for a hug. “I know you'll do whatever you want regardless of what I say, but I think you've got something good there. Hang onto him.”

Tony’s voice is a nice rumble against him. Harley’s sure it’s been a long time since he’s felt supported like this, if ever.

But of course, he has to ruin the moment. He only has so much energy for emotion and there’s still the gala to go. “Are you wearing lifts?”

“Are you complaining that I went through the effort to look and feel like an actual parent figure to you?” Tony pulls away, tone a parody of disgust. “The nerve,” he sniffs, frown huge and dramatic.

Harley snorts and rolls his eyes, smile on his face almost unbearably fond.

“And for god's sake, aren’t we leaving in 15 minutes? Go get your clothes on!”

* * *

If it were at all possible, the butterflies in Harley’s stomach turned into miniature versions of Mothra, wreaking death and destruction on his nerves.

He ducked out of walking up the main entrance, taking Tony and Pepper’s route of going through the back. He’s been nursing the same glass of fancy drink, milling in the background as Pepper made last minute checks on everything through the event organizer. He hopes he never has to put so much effort into the PR side of things in the future, swallowing the last of the drink and setting it down on one of the standing tables.

People start filing into the hall an hour or two after they arrive, socialites and politicians and very few people Harley actually knows, almost none. He sticks to the sides, drawing very little attention to himself for once. To his disappointment, Peter isn’t present yet either. He shoves his hands in his pockets and grabs another drink. The night is still young, he might’ve gotten held up in traffic.

At some point, Tony grabs him by the elbow and pulls him towards a nice group of people (it occurs to Harley that he doesn’t even know what this event is for), a group of men and women who don’t immediately set off his fight or flight instinct. Tony introduces him as a brilliant, budding scientist and engineer and surprisingly doesn’t have any snarky remarks. Just pride beaming straight through. Harley answers and gives input here and there, they ask his opinion on recent field developments and ideas on furthering environmental preservation efforts.

When Tony pulls him aside after that, it feels like he can let go of a breath he’s been holding the entire evening.

“You holding up okay?” he asks, handing Harley a drink. “Drink up, Peter’s gonna be here soon.”

“Why isn’t he here now, though?” Harley asks, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

Tony has a look in his eye that blinks away the next moment. “He’ll be here. He got caught up in other business, definitely will be here soon, though. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“An _hour_?” Harley can’t help but whine then. Pardon him for being a little bratty, but he asked Peter Parker out first! The rest of New York can suck it and deal with not having Spider-Man for an evening.

Tony chuckles, pats his arm twice before sweeping away back into the crowd. Harley sighs and starts drinking, resigning to his fate. He had some part of the evening planned, being nigh-suffocatingly close to Peter and people watching and making fun of ostentatious outfits, then sneaking out to have dinner at a late-night diner in expensive suits. The event was just an in, really.

Honestly, why does Peter have to be _like _that? Completely reckless as to be a superhero for a city that thinks he’s some kind of punk vigilante? He’s way more than that.

Peter’s… way more. Peter’s smart and funny and adorable and selfless and he’s… “here.”

Harley’s eyes snap open, not knowing when they closed, jumping his cheek away from the cold glass it’s leant on.

He spins around and, sure enough, Peter’s there. In the tailored suit, he’s a little disheveled but still cutting a figure so well that Harley’s heart leaps up to his throat. Not that he’s shallow or anything but, outside of Spider-Man, he’s only ever seen Peter in casual shabby clothes. Seeing him all cleaned up with somewhere to go is a whole other monster entirely.

A traitorous part of Harley’s brain wants to steal Peter away from the world. To make out with him in an ‘authorized personnel only’ storage room, mess up his styled curls back to their natural unruly state. Bad, impulsive things.

He feels like such an idiot for just standing there gaping at him like a fish.

“…You clean up nice,” he manages to choke out.

“Thanks, you too,” Peter says, smile wide and blinding. Then he ducks his head, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you mean that? All the stuff you said?”

Oh god, he said all that out loud?

Peter giggles, surging a stab of want through Harley. “Call the presses, Harley Keener-Stark is speechless for once in his life,” he steps forward, barely a foot distance in between them, he’s looking Harley dead in the eye now, amused creases around his eyes. “Hi, sorry I’m late.”

* * *

Eventually, Harley stops being the impression of a preserved gaping idiot. They get a fresh glass of drink each and hang out at one of the standing-only tables. The rest of the world blurs around them, out of sight, out of mind.

“Wait,” Peter starts, tilting his head. “You're saying that this was meant to be an actual date?”

He doesn’t seem to look like he’s running for the hills at the prospect, so Harley surges onward. “Yes! Well, sort of,” he scratches the back of his head. “This is supposed to be a a pre-date thing 'cause I dunno about you, but I don’t think this is the best place for the main event,” he leans forward, winking. “And I’ll have you know my date is amazing and shouldn't have to go through such a disaster of a first date.”

Peter’s eyes were downcast towards his swirling drink that entire time, but now adoring brown eyes gaze up at Harley. “I think your date will be fine with anything as long as they’re with you.”

And god, Harley’s heart skips a couple beats at that, hand over his chest. “You think so?” he asks breathlessly, like the wind's knocked right out of him.

“I know so,” Peter nods, certain. “I tried not to read too far into the plus one thing, just in case it was platonic or anything, but I’m glad I was proven wrong.”

“Well that's me, Harley Keener: constantly proving everyone wrong,” Harley pulls away from the table, straightening his jacket and posture. “But anyway, I think I have a date to make up for,” he offers his hand out to Peter. “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Unhesitant, Peter takes his hand. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere more appropriate for a first date,” Harley checks his watch and hopes the night is young enough that they can still pull this off. “You trust me?”

The smile on Peter’s face is small, hopeful, and could stop Harley’s heart in its tracks. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you so desire. This is also posted on [tumblr](https://rxcrcfllptrs.tumblr.com/post/187348364589). ♡


End file.
